A/N: Thank you once again to Zettel for pre-reading.
But I got an emptiness deep inside
And I've tried
But it won't let me go
And I'm not a man who likes to swear
But I never cared for the sound of being alone
"I Am…I Said"
Neil Diamond
November 29, 2012
Montreux, Switzerland
Ciel woke to the sound of someone speaking. Jennifer, she thought, as she adjusted to wakefulness. It sounded like she was speaking Russian, though Ciel could not be sure. She didn't speak Russian herself, so it was just a guess; many slavic languages sounded similar. It had not been on the list of languages Ciel had tested once she realized her patient had no memory.
Jennifer sounded like she was having a full-blown conversation with herself, which was troubling, at least on the surface. Perhaps she had remembered something, Ciel wondered. Jennifer had been staying in the back room of Ciel's veterinary practice for almost a week, and during that time she had found the patient remembered things when she rambled in foreign tongues, most frequently about missions she had worked on while a CIA officer.
Her work seemed such a huge part of her identity, based on what Ciel and Jennifer had learned together. Ciel had estimated Jennifer's age to be around 30, and yet she had some memories that were over ten years old, which didn't seem possible. Hardly any pieces of her personal life had surfaced in her memory, which also bothered Ciel.
She was probably married, and had given birth to a child recently, but her most vivid memories were all CIA related.
Nothing seemed to make sense.
All Ciel could do was continue to shelter Jennifer, hiding the woman in her veterinary practice. Fortunately, David was preoccupied with searching for the woman who had brought Jennifer here, and hadn't yet needed to bring her any new patients. With Jennifer staying in her house, there was no room to treat anyone else, no room to hide Jennifer from the other patients. It was costing Ciel money. In a resort town like Montreux, her veterinary work was sparse, and tended to be seasonal, and although almost all of the work David brought her way paid well, it did not allow her to do much more than support herself, keep her practice limping along.
Ciel climbed out of bed, pulling her bathrobe around her shoulders as she stood. Jennifer's conversation continued as Ciel moved down the hallway to Jennifer's room.
As Ciel peered through the open doorway, she saw Jennifer, seated on the side of the bed, staring at herself in the mirror bolted to the inside of the closet door that stood open. Jennifer's head was tilted and she regarded herself out of one eye, angled at the mirror. The expression on her patient's face was melancholic. She saw Ciel's reflection in the mirror and smiled a morning greeting, the sadness gone in the warmth of the friendly smile.
"Is that Russian?" Ciel asked.
"Смерть – решение всех проблем," Jennifer repeated, making eye contact with Ciel in the mirror. "Death is the solution to all problems."
"Joseph Stalin?" Ciel asked in chilled disbelief.
"It is…but…it's…something else, too. Something important." Jennifer closed her eyes, touching her long dark brown hair, smoothing her palm over the curls. "I see pictures in my head, when I say it. I can hear voices, but the faces are fuzzy, and the harder I concentrate, the harder they are to see."
"You never have much success when you force it, Jennifer," Ciel reminded her as she moved into the room.
Jennifer turned her upper body to face her doctor. "My hair is supposed to be blonde. I wish it was blonde. I look at my reflection like this and…and I feel like I should be speaking Russian. I don't know why."
Ciel had touched up Jennifer's blonde roots, despite her patient's protests. Ciel had convinced her that the woman who had brought her here was obviously protecting her, perhaps deliberately changing the color of her hair to disguise her. Until they knew more, Ciel maintained that the disguise needed to be in place.
"Maybe a mission at some point, in Russia? Maybe that was when you dyed your hair?"
Jennifer looked down and then away, eventually turning her head back to the mirror. Jennifer's hand clutched at her chest with white knuckles. Her eyes squinted shut, like she was bracing for pain. "A long…awful mission… alone," Jennifer moaned softly. "Moscow. Volkoff Industries."
Jennifer's monotone was stream of consciousness, Ciel knew. She went slowly as she was sorting memories. It was what she said that made Ciel stagger backwards, almost falling against the dresser.
"Ay Dios mio!" Ciel exclaimed, forgetting herself and speaking in her native tongue.
"Ciel, are you alright?" Jennifer said, immediately shaken from her trance-like state, dismayed at the change her words had created.
"You said Volkoff. Alexei Volkoff?"
"Yes," Jennifer said. "But…also, no. It's more complicated. I just…I can't…think. What do you know?"
Ciel paused, summoning all her strength to stop her legs from shaking. She pressed her knees together so hard the joints ground together, causing pain. She gripped the edge of the dresser, using it as a crutch.
"He was an arms dealer. Directly responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. The CIA took him into custody about 18 months ago." Ciel's breath caught as her eyes opened wide. "Jennifer… was that you?" Ciel was shocked, the words just spilling out, before she could reason with herself. That information would be classified; even if Jennifer knew it, she wasn't permitted to tell Ciel. In fact, asking questions of someone whose memory was damaged was irresponsible of her. But, what if that was the key to her identity? What if David couldn't find his contact…
Still looking at her own reflection, Jennifer replied, "It was supposed to be. That was my mission. But…I…failed." Jennifer's eyes widened in shock as she added with a whisper, "It was my husband." Jennifer said the word in simultaneously awe and disbelief.
Ciel put aside her emotions, her bafflement, seeing a way she could help. "Your husband is CIA?" She was careful with 'husband', careful not to emphasize it but wanting to observe Jennifer's reaction to it again.
Jennifer blinked. "Yes…but…also, no. The same as me," Jennifer said slowly.
How many husband and wife teams worked as spies for the CIA? Ciel wondered. The number had to be small. It was something she needed to let David know as soon as she could. Although, was it possible, because of the uncertainty that Jennifer seemed to have about both her husband and her own status, that they both were CIA but had left at some point? To have a family?
It was possible, more than possible, a logical thought, given everything, though Ciel kept it to herself. Whenever she brought up the missing baby, Jennifer became so agitated Ciel couldn't calm her. And then any memories that had started to flow seized like a frozen river, some insights recovered then re-forgotten and needing prompting from Ciel once again.
Empathy ran deep in Ciel.Jennifer's kind of pain was familiar to Ceil, though not dulled and distanced by a spotty, patchwork memory. It was raw and present. Thanks to Alexei Volkoff.
Not long after the news had reached her that Volkoff was in CIA custody, she had also heard rumors, unsubstantiated it seemed, that Volkoff had died in prison, but all trace and mention of him disappeared like he had never existed. Whatever had happened to him, Ciel was certain, Volkoff did not suffer enough for his crimes.
"Ciel…" Jennifer called, making her think that she had called more than once, but Ciel had been lost in thought. When the doctor turned, Jennifer continued. "I'm causing you difficulty, I know." Ciel opened her mouth to protest, but Jennifer held up her hand and continued. "I know you're waiting for your friend, and you want to help me. But, I can't stay here forever." Jennifer sobbed. "I have to find my daughter. If she's alive, I have to find her. She needs me." Jennifer covered her face.
"It's only been six days," Ciel argued. "Not a lot of time to find someone who doesn't want to be found."
"You've never had a patient stay as long as me," Jennifer argued, shaking her head.
"I've never had an amnesiac patient before. Or a patient I almost lost." Ciel moved towards her, feeling a rush of compassion for the woman. They weren't friends, but they were friendly. It was a different situation, new, something Ciel had missed these past years hiding in Switzerland. Cats and dogs were companions, but they couldn't converse. "Whatever the backstory is, it was as dire as you could imagine. You needed an ICU and instead they transferred you via private jet to Zurich and then to me here, in the middle of nowhere. The woman who contacted David thought the risk of you dying was more acceptable than letting your presence and identity be known. You have to remember that. People are most certainly looking for you, maybe good and bad."
Jennifer had nodded along with Ciel, trusting and understanding. But then Jennifer folded her body in half, tucking her knees up against her chin. "Do you think she's alive, Ciel?" she asked, her voice small and sounding far away.
Ciel knew how important hope was, and she wouldn't dash it, not based on probability or a hunch. But she couldn't lie to Jennifer either. "I don't know," she sighed. "I wish I could–"
"No, Ciel," Jennifer said sharply. "Your best, quick guess. Gut reaction. Answer without thinking. Is she alive?"
"Yes," Ciel blurted.
Jennifer spun her head, gazing at Ciel with surprise.
She needed to explain. "You saw your baby. You saw her face. She survived. You almost died, but she survived. I can't imagine the woman who brought you here had no idea you'd had a baby. She knew, whoever she is, whoever she is to you. I still believe she thought you would remember, and maybe know how to contact her. Now she's disappeared, but I feel confident, if she rescued you like you believe, that she rescued your baby, too."
There were tears in Jennifer's eyes, but a sad, guarded smile on her face as she nodded.
There were so many half-thoughts, trails of memory started that Jennifer had been afraid to continue down. Ciel tread carefully, but she thought it was worth testing one of those abandoned trails. "Let's talk about that. Rescue. You said that several times. Why? What about that memory makes you think so?"
Jennifer's body language keyed Ciel into her discomfiture. But surprisingly, she spoke. Her voice was different–heavy, angry, bitter, instead of meek or afraid. "My hands and ankles are bound to the…chair or table or…whatever it is. There's a vial of cyanide taped to my vein and if I move, the needle injects me and I die." She sobbed. "I can feel myself bleeding…I've just given birth. The nurse whispers in my ear, tells me it's not cyanide. To trust her. I ask her to see the baby. She promises me she will show me." Jennifer's voice changed, softer, weaker. "That's when I saw her, memorized her face. I don't know how or why or…anything…but she's mine. The nurse has to take her away. But she tells me to bend my arm, let the needle pierce my vein, and when I wake up, I'll be safe, rescued. I don't know if I can trust her, and then I don't know if I care. I feel the sting of the needle…and then…nothing, until I woke up here, with you."
It was the longest string of memory Jennifer had experienced in her time with Ciel, and traumatic at that. Though Ciel was horrified at the picture Jennifer's words had painted, it was perhaps an optimistic sign that more of her memory was returning. That perhaps, some of the blockage was trauma related, and as she eased into calm discussion, the trauma became more manageable.
"Do you remember the nurse, as you call her?"
"She had a…British accent. She's young. But…like all the others, I can't see her face. It's fuzzy."
David's contact was older than Jennifer described, and did not have an British accent, although that didn't necessarily rule her out. Perhaps someone else had helped.
It was aggravating, that everything rested on whether or not David could find her again. All Ciel could do was wait.
November 29, 2012
Zurich, Switzerland
David walked at a leisurely place through MFO Park, on his way to meet Halmstad. Otto (in his mind, once David knew a real name and not the code, he could only think of the name) had arranged the meeting, David believed in response to the conversation about Ciel he had in Otto's tavern. David was still looking for Marseille–he was still waiting for word from Otto about that as well. Apparently asking for a face-to-face with Halmstad was easier than locating Marseille. Both problems were pressing, but he could only deal with one at a time, so resigned himself that this meeting was about Ciel.
In late fall, MFO looked more like an abandoned construction project than a park. An immense latticework stretched out in all directions. The green vines that adorned the space, creating a lush, hanging garden, had long since burned dusty red and then died when the freezing temperatures approached. This park was a favorite meeting place, mostly because the usual vegetation provided an extensive natural cover, no better outdoor privacy available anywhere.
Because of that, they avoided any kind of meetings in winter. This time, David had no choice.
"You're a long way from Dresden." David heard the older man's voice over his left shoulder.
"And you from Halmstad, my friend," David replied in the familiar code.
They started walking side by side.
"We have much to discuss, David," Hammersmith started.
It had been a few months since David had seen Hammersmith last. The man was older, probably in his 60s, with a head of white hair and piercing ice blue eyes. He was dressed as he always was, like a college professor, in a cowl-necked cardigan sweater and a crisp button-down shirt with no tie. His corduroy pants swooshed as he moved.
Hammersmith was the only person David dealt with on a regular basis, besides Ciel, who knew his name. The man had earned it, time and again. David owed the man his life many times over, in just the short time they had been associates. The older man was mild-mannered, the quintessential British gentleman, and intelligent, with an inexplicable intensity that seemed simmering just below the surface.
"I asked for the meeting because I need your help," David said.
"There is more here than you know, more that I need to tell you. I fear whatever it is that you need me for, it is connected to what I'm concerned about as well. But tell me, David. I will tell you whatever I can, do whatever I can."
David did trust the man, more than anyone else but Ciel. He felt like he had been holding everything inside for so long and it continued to worsen. Now it was unmanageable. He had to tell Halmstad everything, because he couldn't tell Ciel.
"How much do you know about Ciel?" he asked. "Her past, I mean."
"What you know, I believe. She lost her license to practice medicine in France because of the decision she made in the ER the day of the terrorist attack. She left France and went to Switzerland. I sought her out when I was constructing the network. We needed a qualified doctor. The charges in France were…unreasonable."
"Do you know… everything?" David asked.
Halmstad's gait shifted. He tucked his hands deeply in his pockets. "I know about her husband and her daughter. A tragedy I would not wish on my worst enemy."
If David hadn't known better, he would have thought Halmstad sounded almost guilty. An odd reaction.
"The man who drove the truck into the crowd, you know, he survived the attack. Ciel was on duty at the hospital. She kept working, exhausted and overwrought, once she learned that her husband and daughter were killed. There were so many wounded, so many who needed blood, and the blood bank was short. They appealed to other hospitals, but it was still a crisis. Her job was to triage. She decided, against her oath, that she was going to divert the blood supply to the victims rather than the terrorist, even though he was hurt worse. She let him bleed out…and not before she told him why. They should have sent her home. She was devastated, not thinking straight."
"I know Ciel, David. I don't think, regardless of how much time she had to think, she would have done anything differently. She gave the rest of her life away, to help me, as atonement, did she not?" The man tsked. "She would do it again, I'm sure, even if she knew what would happen."
David had seen the darkness in her eyes, mirroring the lightless heart inside her. Loss and guilt haunted her days and nights. She kept her distance from him, from everyone, while she festered in darkness. He had been trying as long as he'd known her to coax her into the light, but she wanted no part.
"The man she…let die…was not a jihadist, not like they reported in the press. He was paid by an organization known to be working for a rogue group of international spies called The Ring. That attack was meant to cause a major upheaval in the election that year, geared towards The Ring's goals, whatever they were. The misnomer by the press ruined everything, and the terrorist's death assured the rest of the plan could not be carried out. The man in charge of that group, an ex-CIA agent named Nicholas Quinn, knows it was Ciel that caused his death."
Halmstad stopped walking altogether, turning his ashen face to look David in the eye. "My God…David, you're certain of that?" Halmstad grabbed David's arm, squeezing until it pinched.
"Yes, why?" David asked with alarm.
He started walking again, quickening his gait, so that David had to almost jog to keep up with him. "I knew this was all connected, somehow. I knew it. There are no coincidences. I should have remembered that."
"What are you talking about?" David asked.
"The woman, Marseille, she contacted you, didn't she?" he asked.
Now David stopped moving forward. "She did. I'm looking for her! You knew about that?" His eyes were agog. "Do you know who Madame X is?" he asked urgently.
"Madame X? What are you talking about?"
"The woman Marseille asked me to bring to Ciel. She was almost dead by the time Ciel got to her. And when she woke up, she had no idea who she was, where she was, anything."
Halmstad's already ashen face was now alabaster, bloodless. "Oh…my…god…"
"We thought Marseille could tell us who she is–"
"She's still alive?" Halmstad shouted.
David nodded.
"Her name is Sarah Bartowski. Marseille is her mother-in-law and my dearest friend in the world. And she's disappeared without a trace."